“But how did the ones we fought get word to the others so soon?” Ned demanded.

“Oh, they have ways of signaling,” explained Mr. Anderson.  “They can make the notes of some of their hollow-tree drums carry a long distance, and then they are very swift runners, and can penetrate into the jungle along paths that a white man would hardly see.  They also use the smoke column as a signal, as our own American Indians used to do.  Oh, they can summon all their tribesmen to the fight, and they probably will.  Likely the sound of our guns attracted the imps, though if we all had electric rifles like Tom’s they wouldn’t make any noise.”

“Well, my rifle didn’t appear to do so very much good this tune,” observed the young inventor, as he stopped the forward motion of the ship now, and let it hover over the plain in sight of the village, the gas bag serving to sustain the craft, and there was little wind to cause it to drift.  “Those fellows didn’t seem to mind being hurt and killed any more than if mosquitoes were biting them.”

“The trouble is we need a whole army, armed with electric rifles to make a successful attack,” said Mr. Durban.  “There are swarms of them there now, and more coming every minute.  I do hope Mr. and Mrs. Illingway are alive yet.”

“Yes,” added Mr. Anderson solemnly, “we must hope for the best.  But, like Tom Swift, I ask, what’s to be done?”

“Bless my thinking cap!” exclaimed Mr. Damon.  “It seems to me if we can’t fight them openly in the daytime, there’s only one other thing to do.”

“What’s that?” asked Tom.  “Go away?  I’ll not do it!”

“No, not go away,” exclaimed Mr. Damon, “but make a night attack.  We ought to be able to do something then, and with your illuminating rifle, Tom, we’d have an advantage!  What do you say?”

“I say it’s the very thing!” declared Tom, with sudden enthusiasm.  “We’ll attack them to-night, when they’re off their guard, and we’ll see if we can’t get the missionaries out of that hut.  And to better fool the savages, we’ll just disappear now, and make ’em believe we’ve flown away.”

“Then the missionaries will think we’re deserting them,” objected Mr. Anderson.

But there was no help for it, and so Tom once more turned on the power and the craft sailed away.

Tomba, the faithful black, begged to be allowed to go down, and tell his master and mistress that help would soon be at hand again, even though it looked like a retreat on the part of the rescuers, but this could not he permitted.

“They’d tear you in pieces as soon as you got among those red imps,” said Tom.  “You stay here, Tomba, and you can help us to-night.”

“A’right, me glad help lick red fellows,” said the black, with as cheerful a grin as he could summon.

The Black Hawk circled around, with Tom and the others looking for a good place to land.  They were out of sight of the village now but did not doubt but that they were observed by the keen eyes of the little men.